


There's Music in These Walls

by thiccskeleton



Series: Cruising Through the Doom Days [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Nothing Hurts, all the archival assistants, archive polycule, archive polycule/reader - Freeform, deluxe archive polycule, everyone loved calliope so much, so I had to make more polycule content, the beginning is so uncessarily serious but that's my jam, this time with all the babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiccskeleton/pseuds/thiccskeleton
Summary: Not many people from the outside get to see the Archives.They don't get to know about the people in the Archives - the people who work there, who are bound to it.They don't get to know the person who sits in front of Sasha James, on a beat up old sofa that had seen more tears and blood than any office couch had business seeing, playing guitar and singing a song with a gentle rhythm that reminded them of her.
Relationships: Alice "Daisy" Tonner/Reader, Basira Hussain/Reader, Gerard Keay/Reader, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Reader, Martin Blackwood/Reader, Melanie King/Reader, Michael Shelley/Reader, Sasha James/Reader, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)/Reader
Series: Cruising Through the Doom Days [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033488
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	There's Music in These Walls

From the outside, The Magnus Institute looks like any other place. It looks like any other building that takes up a sizeable portion of the sidewalk to the point you can't miss it but you hardly remember it's there unless you have to. It's just there, taking up space, but there nonetheless.

Further inside, stopping just short of the welcome desk, it's just as unassuming as the outside. Sure the walls are a dark green color and there's motifs of the human eye to be found all over the place, but it's certainly no Ripleys-Believe-it-or-Not like one might expect.

The woman at the front desk always looks beautiful and put together with a well placed smile and wise eyes like you'd expect from the head secretary. Her nametag simply reads Rosie but it seems a good fit for her, despite her more professional appearance.

It all seems so mundane, so normal despite the "dark academia" theme it seems to be going for.

But not many people from the outside get past the front desk unless they work there or want to use the library.

Not many people from the outside get to see the Archives.

They don't get to see the black sludge that's dried to a corner of the room and won't come out no matter how hard it's scrubbed at using whatever chemicals are boasted to be the strongest.

They don't get to know the story of the dent in one of the doors, caused by a chair being launched at a monster turned inside out, one that had emerged out of the tunnels below the institute.

They don't get to know about the tunnels.

They don't get to know about the people in the Archives - the people who work there, who are bound to it. 

They don't get to know the person who sits in front of Sasha James, on a beat up old sofa that had seen more tears and blood than any office couch had business seeing, playing guitar and singing a song with a gentle rhythm that reminded them of her.

And as the song comes to an end Sasha smiles, clapping as she looked to you with a look of overwhelming affection.

"Wonderful! Bravo!" She cheers, and a wide grin splits your face.

"Thank you, thank you!" You laugh, setting the instrument down beside you.

"Though, I have to ask," she starts, a curious glint reflecting through her glasses. "Why does that song make you think of me?"

"Dunno." You shrug. "Just the vibes, I guess? Anything soft and wordy makes me think of you."

Her eyes soften, your reflection of her character clearly translating as a compliment. "Aw, aren't you sweet."

"I try." You grin, only to be bewitched by the lovely little giggle that falls from her lips.

"You should try seeing if you can turn Martin's poetry into lyrics." She suggests, cheek coming to rest on her closed fist that's propped up by her arm on her desk. "Maybe if he has someone to work on it with him he'd feel a bit more comfortable about actually performing it."

"I've definitely thought about that but I also don't want to push him too much, y'know?" You began. "Poetry can be an incredibly personal thing and sometimes putting that on display can be very frightening. Especially if someone is going to sing it."

"Fair enough." She answers thoughtfully. "Suppose we'll just have to keep dropping subtle hints for him to open up."

"Oh yeah? You mean like the post-it note that Tim left on his desk? What did it say? _Roses are red, violets are blue-_ "

"- _Life is poetry and so are you._ " Sasha chimes in, a humorous lilt in her voice as she harmonizes with you.

"I'll admit, not his best work." She laughs.

"He gets an E for effort though." You fondly add.

The smile that found your lips was almost involuntary as you thought of Tim and his sense of humour that was slowly re-emerging. After so long of him having been so depressed and cold, having been such a stark contrast to the man you had fallen in love with, it was nice to see those sparks of his coming back, to see him in his element again.

And as if something had been watching - something was always watching, but not in the context you meant it - Timothy Stoker and the rest of your band of loved ones poured in from the stairs, apparently having returned from their venture to acquire lunch.

"Hey! You're playing without us?!" He calls in what sounds like mock offense, walking over with a plastic container of food in one hand, and gesturing to the guitar at your feet with the other.

"It was just one song, don't get crazy." You answer, rolling your eyes at the playful smile he sends your way.

"I have every right to. As your manager it's my job to oversee all of your performances." He says cheekily, sliding into his desk chair and plopping his container of food on the table.

"Since when are you my manager?" You ask, scrunching your nose up at him.

"Since now." He answers, raising a wry eyebrow at you.

"Okay manager," there's enough intonation in your voice to convey the air quotes you didn't physically replicate, "then what gigs do I have?"

"Right now," he points at the floor to emphasise his words, "right here."

Gerry passes in front of you at that moment, a can of coke in his hand as he perches cross-legged on top of the arm of the sofa. "Can I make a request in that case?" He asks.

"You know I can't do screamo, Gerry" You look to him knowingly, chuckling gently. "I've only just started."

For all The Eye was good for in speed learning new hobbies - shoveling information into your mind and all - it couldn't actually grant you the vocal cords to keep up with everything you were learning. Which was just as well in the end, you supposed. Some things had to be earned after all.

Gerry clicks his fingers dejectedly. "Drat." He says, though judging by the small smirk on his face you can tell it's all in good fun.

At that point one of the spaces next to you on the couch shifts as a weight is added to it, and then the other space shifts as well as both Michael and Jon join you on the couch.

Michael has a soft, gentle smile on his face as he passes a paper bag off to you, using hands that once used to be so much sharper but are now just as soft and gentle as he had become. "Hopefully I got everything right." And he laughs in that unique, adorable way of his.

"You always do." You encourage, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, delighting in how easily his face lights up, just as quick to fluster as Martin was. "Thank you, love."

"S-Sure," a small, sheepish smile. "Of course."

Adorable.

"C'mon now, don't try to change the subject by being cute with Michael." Tim interjects, making the red color on Michael's cheeks darken evermore.

"Uhm, number one, I'm always cute with Michael." You shot back wryly, and the aforementioned man sinks further into the couch. "And two, am I not allowed to eat before this performance?"

"You can eat after." Melanie says after swallowing a mouthful of food, playfully gesturing a fork in your direction. " We get one song as payment for us going out into the cruel, cold world for lunch while you and Sasha stayed cozy in here."

"If you can call this place cozy." Sasha quips with a sarcastic smile, earning a snort from Melanie.

"Yeah really, it's not as if we've almost been killed multiple times in this very building." You added.

"Quit stalling." Basira speaks up, commanding the attention of the room with the sheer authority of her voice, even when she's not trying to be serious. "Everyone's in agreement so just give us the song."

You look to her, seeing the twinkle of mischievousness in her eyes, then turn your gaze over at Daisy who's wearing a similar glint and only shrugs back at you with a small smirk.

"You heard her."

"Fine, fine." You huffed, feigning annoyance as you leaned over to pick up the instrument you had laid at your feet. "Since I'm being ganged up on."

And even though you've made a big show of it, you truly didn't have a problem playing for them. It was a delight and an honour that they'd want so much to hear your voice even though you knew it wasn't quite up to snuff just yet. That it still cracked on occasion, that you'd sometimes miss a chord on the guitar.

And yet they still wanted you to play.

"But if I'm being bullied into playing, then Martin has to read his poetry eventually."

You turn your head to face the man who had thus far just been watching with a delighted smile on his face. The minute you make eye contact that smile squrims into something sheepish and he sputters into excuses, face going red almost instantly.

"Wha-What me? O-Oh no, no, I'm fine, I'm good, really. Besides, I, er, would much rather listen to you, anyway!"

You couldn't help but take humor in his response, the soft affection you had for the man warming your heart as you chuckled quietly. "Fine, fine, I see how it is."

Adjusting the instrument in your lap, you turn your gaze finally to Jon who, for all the bags under his eyes and his tired, green eyes, looked positively content in that moment, a fond smile on his face as he sits in the company of his loved ones.

"Would you like to help me with this one, Jon?" You asked, smiling as he looked to you with a hint of surprise. "You can pick the song if you like."

"Oh, er, are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright then, uh, how about -" and he affectionately names the first song the two of you ever sang together in the secluded company of his office, back when you were first learning how to play.

You smile at each other, sharing a moment that belonged only to the two of you.

"I think I can do that."

And as the moment slowly transitions, time ticking by in a slow, dreamlike way, did you then you straighten yourself out, strumming the first chord as your voice joins in a gentle harmony with Jon's.

The people around you listen and watch with a special kind of look in their eyes. It's an expression that's laden in love, that shows the truth of what this moment means because it took so long to get to.

While there's still work to do - while there probably will always be work to do - it's moments like these that make it worth it. It's moments like these that make trudging through a world that is _factually_ out to kill them - out to kill you - worth it.

It's moments like these that make you wonder if this really is a world with no happy endings like you've been told.

Because right now felt like the prelude to a happy ending.

Because right now, these scorched and scratched walls knew music, knew what harmony against all odds sounded like.

And maybe it would only be the walls that carried those memories after all of you were gone.

But the journey to make those memories had been worth it to walk.

And that was something you would take with you long after you were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Jonny Sims: There is no happy ending to The Magnus Archives.  
> Me: That's alright king, I respect that, but I'm still gonna be over here writing my fluffy fics. 
> 
> ANYWAY,
> 
> The responses I got on Calliope were so freaking cute and wholesome that I just /had/ to write more polycule content. Except this time it's the deluxe archive polycule package!
> 
> I wanted to give some characters more interaction but I'll save that for another time where I haven't shoved ten characters into one scene. 
> 
> If you guys have any polycule content you'd like to see in the future or have suggestions let me know! I can't promise I'll get to them but I'd still like to hear them!
> 
> Or conversely if you have any other reader/tma suggestions you can let me know on my Tumblr! It's @gerryrigged


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